Dribble Drabbles and Things of that Sort
by Emeraudedeux
Summary: Here you'll find a collection of randomly paired characters or stories in Drabble form. No update schedule, as I'll post as inspiration strikes! Some will be fluffy, others lemon filled, family oriented or even angsty and dark. Triggers (if needed) will be at the top of each individual story. Hope you enjoy!
1. With Me

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.

 **A/N:** Hello, lovely readers! Here you'll find a collection of drabbles I write randomly. Pairings will be random, and triggers will be placed appropriately for each Drabble. Let's start with a bit of George, Eh?

These will remain unbeta'd - any mistakes are all my own!

 **Pairing** : George W/Hermione G

* * *

 **With Me**

" _..._ _I don't want this moment to ever end_

 _where everything's nothing without you_ …"

* * *

George pressed Hermione against the old wooden shed, hooking his hands under her thighs and lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist.

"George, we can't…" her mouth formed the words, but her body _screamed_ it's want for the tall, ginger man.

He pressed his mouth against hers, working her lips over and muffling her protests. His grip on her arse tightened as a moan escaped her lips. She ran her hands through his shaggy locks, pulling them tight when his mouth found her throat.

"We _have_. We _are_. I want you…" His words spread goosebumps down her body as his breath skated across her skin.

Hermione Granger had spent one long, hot summer at the Burrow, spending quality time with her makeshift family, studying for the upcoming term, and _shagging_ George Weasley _._

She hadn't planned for this to happen, of course. She was supposed to be with _Ronald_ , or so it always seemed.

 _Ron_ , who she harbored a crush on since they'd met on the Hogwart's Express all those years ago.

 _Ron_ , who was one of her very best mates.

 _Ron_ , who never so much as gave her a passing glance when it came to romance.

Yes, everyone assumed Hermione Granger was the swotty little girl who spent her every waking moment with her nose in a book. They would never guess she preened under the touch of a handsome man.

 _And all man, he was..._

George trailed his lips across her collarbone, along her shoulder and back up her jawline, all while Hermione ground shamelessly in his hold.

He lowered her feet back to the grass, reaching for the button on her muggle jeans. She slapped his hand away, poking her head around the shed and scanning the lawn.

"Your brothers are all home! The last thing we need is someone coming over here," she frowned, frustrated.

He grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him and moving his hands back to her hips. "No one is coming, 'Mione," he grinned.

" _Yet_." She spoke in a sultry voice before breaking out in fit of laughter. She quickly clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of giggles.

Hermione had never felt more _alive_ than when she was with George Weasley. The young marauder had a way of bringing out her free spirit, and she shined in the act of letting loose. She was constantly grinning, laughing, and her heart was content when he was near.

He seemed to watch her as the thoughts drifted across her mind and reached out to cup her cheek in his palm. She leaned into the touch, closing her eyes and relishing in the intimate gesture.

" _I love you, Hermione Granger,"_ George murmured quietly. She looked up at the sound, searching his eyes and losing herself in the pools of blue.

Those eyes, so familiar, would drown her endlessly, and she was hopeless to resurface.

Truthfully, _she didn't want to_.

So she stood on tiptoe, pressing her mouth firmly to his and let the rushing warmth surround her entirely.


	2. Distance

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.

 **Warning:** Mention of torture/death

 **Pairing:** Narcissa M/Lucius M

* * *

 **Distance**

" _... I hate myself when I'm away from you,_

 _I swear I'm sorry. Please don't hate me too …"_

* * *

"You must understand, Cissy," he spoke, his words soft, but urgent. She had yet to turn and face him from her spot at the vanity, and in his current state, he wouldn't blame her.

Their eyes met through the mirror, azure to silver, and he couldn't help but admire her endless strength. He knew she was aching to break down, fall apart - _she wouldn't_.

"I do, Lucius. _Understand_. That doesn't mean I like it," she responded with a slight twist of her delicate features.

" _As if I do, Narcissa?"_ His voice rose, the heaviness of his evening weighing in. "You think I enjoy this… this… _affair?"_ he spat, gesturing wildly at the blood splattered across his finely tailored robes.

She raised the soft arch of her brow, knowing he wasn't wholly innocent. Her husband quite liked the power his position held and the _duties_ that came along with it. He may not admit it, but Narcissa Malfoy was no fool.

He moved to stand behind her, reaching out to run his fingers through her loose blonde locks. He took a deep breath to calm his shot nerves. "It's all for you, my love. For us, _for_ _Draco_ \- for the Malfoy name."

Narcissa stood, turning to take his hand in her own. "Oh, Lucius," she cried, pulling him flush against her to bury her face in his chest.

When she pulled away, his eyes darkened at the sight of blood smeared on her cheek - a stark contrast of red against porcelain skin.

He stroked the spot, smearing it further and cringed at the pleasure it brought him. She was a vision, as much now as the day he'd first laid eyes on her many, many years ago.

He watched his thumb rub the streak methodically, her words falling on deaf ears as his thoughts grew dark.

He craved the spike of adrenaline that came with dirtying one's hands. He could smell fear a mile off, and the scent clouded his senses and fueled his will to torture, _to kill._

 _Lucius Malfoy hated himself._

He hated the rush of joy that flooded his veins as he ripped open those of another.

He hated the satisfaction the sight of blood brought him - flowing freely from a broken body, running in rivers across his hands, splattered like artwork on his most expensive robes.

He hated how _very much_ he loved it.

There was nothing quite as gratifying as watching the life drain from someone's eyes, knowing their blood would run cold as yours pumped viciously in malicious contentment.

He refocused on his witch before him, heart falling at the sight of tired resignation that marred her once lively features. He pulled her close once more, burying his face and breathing in the floral scent he'd fallen in love with.

"I'm so sorry, pet," he murmured into her hair, whispering it over and over again. "Say you don't hate me. Tell me you don't, please. I beg of you, Cissy."

They stayed there, frozen in shared pain as the light of the moon shone through the large glass windows of their suite. It illuminated the sharp planes of his face, and brought out the timeless beauty in her delicate features.

She clutched his robes, eyes closed and heart clenching as evidence of his crime stained the satin covering her flesh. She spoke, merely a wisp in the air as she steeled her features and pushed the pain away for another night, as always.

" _I could never, darling."_


	3. All Over You

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story

 **Pairing:** Theo N/Hermione G

* * *

 **All Over You**

" _... I've got to feel you in my bones again,_

 _I'm all over you; I'm not over you …"_

* * *

 **June 1999**

 _Meet me, please._

 _You know the place._

— _T_

Hermione stared at the words, reading them thrice over as the edges wrinkled where she gripped the tiny slip of parchment tightly. This was the sixth note in the last year, nearly always the same in that familiar, slanted scrawl; she'd ignored each one.

 _So why does this time feel different?_

She scrubbed a hand across her face, crumpling the paper and tossing it aside as memories began swirling at the forefront of her mind.

" _Oh, stop it!" She scolded with a grin, pushing against his chest in an attempt to halt his merciless teasing._

 _His fingers continued their poking and prodding, tickling her stomach and arms until she was pleading he stop, pained laughter falling from her mouth._

 _Hermione, like so very often, had tucked herself away in a small alcove in the library, and she wasn't alone._

 _Theo Nott - yes, Slytherin - had sparked her interest sometime fifth year, and after a few awkward encounters and wayward glances, they'd begun studying together on the low. Their mutual love for books, they'd learn, was just one of the few attributes that drew them together._

 _He stopped his silly torture, catching her eye momentarily before leaning in to capture her lips against his own. His mouth was always so soft - gentle - yet dominating as he lead their tongues in a secret dance._

Hermione sniffled, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. They'd spent countless moments together, her and Theodore, and her heart ached at the memory of his smell, touch, of _him_.

They'd parted ways - they _had_ to - in the midst of what would have been her seventh year. She was on the run, an _undesirable_ , and he was the son of a Death Eater, tucked away at Hogwarts.

His father, though he had no idea who she was to his son, had tried to kill her and her friends on more than one occasion.

 _It could never have worked..._

That's what Hermione told him all those months ago, and she would never forget the way he'd pleaded his case, eyes swimming with emotion, begging her to stay.

 _Stay._

He had cried - _actually cried_ \- and for a moment she was tempted, swayed to run away with him just like he'd offered. But she couldn't, not then.

 _It could never have worked…_

But here she sat, eyes locked on the discarded parchment, mind screaming for her to give him a chance. She'd tucked away any and all feelings towards the man, throwing away the key and thinking never to return again.

Hermione wasn't even quite sure what she was hiding from anymore. The war was long over, Voldemort's regime disbanded, his servants jailed away. Wizarding Britain was at peace.

Shouldn't _she_ be?

Standing on shaky legs, she moved away from her desk to eye herself in a nearby mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing the mane of curls and prepped her mind for the outcome of either the best, or worst decision she could possibly make in that moment.

Hermione took a deep, calming breath before closing her eyes and spinning into darkness.


	4. Daydreams

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story

 **Warning:** Language, Smut

 **Pairing:** Theo N/Harry P

* * *

 **Daydreams**

* * *

Theo stared at the roaring flames, his patience thinning with every word that fell from the pointy boy's lips.

" _Bloody fucking Potter_ ," Draco spat, "thinks he's better than me because they won the match. _Luck_ , boys. That's all it was."

The Slytherin's who had gathered in the common room all nodded in agreement, huffing out various insults to appease Draco's frustration. Theo though, _ever the level-minded_ _wizard_ , was sick of the boy's petulant tantrums.

"Have you ever thought he may be just that? _Better than you_ , I mean," he spoke in a low drawl.

"What's that, Nott? I don't think I quite heard you correctly." The room had quieted, nothing but the sound of Draco's hiss and the crackling fire making a sound.

Theo stood, plucking a bit of nonexistent lint from his sweater and moved towards the portrait hole. "You heard me, _Malfoy._ You can't always win." With that, he stepped through the door, letting it shut with a loud click. He smiled to himself as he moved further and further away from the dorm, down the dark halls of the Dungeons and up the stairs with no attainable destination in mind.

What he really wanted to do was celebrate the win - not in the Tower's, _of course_ , with all of those rowdy Gryffindors - but something private would be nice. He thought of what he'd like to do with Harry Potter for that impeccable win, face growing warm at the thought.

 _Harry stepped through the entrance, his face glistening with sweat, hair an unruly mess and his jersey clinging to his lean frame._

 _Despite his post Quidditch state, he was gorgeous, and Theo admired the sight before him with thirst in his eyes._

" _Good game, Potter," he spoke softly._

 _Harry ran a hand through his locks, stepping closer to Theo's chair before leaning down to caress his cheek. Theo leaned into the touch, kissing his palm and tugging the boy - sweat and all - onto his lap._

" _Phenomenal, brilliant. I'm not much for sports myself, but I could watch you handle your broom all day long."_

" _Mmm," Harry murmured. "My broom? That could be arranged." His eyes gleamed wickedly at the play on words as he reach down to rub his hand across the rich fabric covering Theo's skin._

 _Theo groaned as he hardened under the touch, breath hitching when Harry used one finger to lightly trace his member through his straining trousers. "What about your broom, Theodore?"_

 _Without answering, Theo pushed up to capture Harry's lips, working them with his own in slow desperation as he ached to taste the boy. The movement pushed him further against Harry's palm, and he panted as Harry squeezed lightly and moved to unbutton the offending barrier._

" _Harry…" He choked, just as the wizard slowly pulled the zipper down, freeing his cock and wrapping his calloused hand around his large—_

"Oomph!" Theo grunted as he was ripped from his daze, landing hard on his bum. He hadn't been watching where he was going, apparently.

"Sorry, Mate! Didn't see you there," came a cheerful voice above him.

Theo fought a furious blush as he looked up at the green eyes of _Harry Potter_ , still clad in his Quidditch uniform with his hand outstretched to help him off the ground. He closed his eyes as his hand connected with the boys, rough yet smooth, _just as he'd pictured in his wildest dreams._


	5. Sanity

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story

 **A/N:** It's one of those days that I want to scream and cry and just be ALONE. I want all these things, but instead I will write. Because Ginny isn't the only one who needs a moment to breathe. Mamas reading this… Hang in there. I FEEL you. I do.

* * *

 **Sanity**

* * *

Ginny slid to the floor and let her head fall back against the door with a _thud._ She ran her hands through her frazzled hair, tugging slightly as she went through the breathing patterns Hermione had taught her ages ago.

It was one of those days where absolutely nothing was going right - where frustration, _desperation_ lurked at every corner of the house, her mind, her _sanity._

She cringed every time one of the kids touched her. And they _would not stop_ touching her, as if they were magnetic, stuck to her hip. Her hair was dirty - she hadn't showered in two days - her shirt stained from the children's lunch, and she couldn't remember the last time she ate, herself.

She'd grown up with this expectation that life was meant to be this way - a constant array of dirty dishes, dinner parties, never ending laundry, babies.

 _So. Many. Babies._

The sound of little feet thumping through the halls above rang out, but it was loud - _too loud_ \- and she threw her hands over her ears in an attempt to stop the noise that seemed to dig and burrow its way right into her skin.

She couldn't escape it. She felt like a monster for even trying.

She _needed_ five minutes of freedom. She needed it like she needed air to breathe, and she was afraid if she didn't get it now, she might snap. When she did, it wouldn't be pretty.

Harry was off working, the head Auror that he was, and she was left day in and day out to handle the house and children.

Ginny Weasley - _Potter_ \- had grown to expect this life, but this life had not grown on her. This life was _not_ her.

"Mummy?" the small, muffled voice spoke through the door. "Mummy, ya there?"

The witch sighed, rubbing her hands across her face and wiping away any remnants of her misery. Ginny stood, brushing off the back of her trousers and groaning at the dust that fell off. _Of course, I haven't had time to get to the bathrooms…_

She creaked the door open, stepping out to scoop up the small boy. She hugged him close, breathing in the familiar scent she'd loved since birth.

"I love you mummy," he whispered against her neck, and she smiled softly, pushing away her resentment and sadness for another day - another day like this that was _sure_ to come.


	6. Burn

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story

 **Pairing:** Ginny W/Tom Riddle Jr

* * *

 **Burn**

" _... And the further that I run away,_

 _the further I'll come back to shelter ;_

 _Youre the fire - I'd rather burn than fall …"_

* * *

Ginny stared at the journal in her lap. It was blue, like a robin's egg - cheerful, a bright shade of the finest dragonhide. Charlie had given it to her in confidence just a few months prior. She'd left it to collect dust at the bottom of her trunk, unable to look at the offending object.

It was nothing like she wanted, yet she loved to write, needed the escape. Her eyes played tricks on her as she sat there, numb and staring at the innocent bundle of parchment.

 _Leather, ebony - deep and dark,_ just like her thoughts. Her mind screamed, yet she flipped the cover back - _blue_ , not black - dipping her quill into the creamy ink and began…

 _ **February 23, 1996**_

 _I miss him._

I miss him when I'm awake, and I miss him when I sleep. I miss him in those blissful moments of ' _in_ _between_ ' where reality is just out of reach and bittersweet daydreams fog my mind.

It's all okay… _for a little while_.

His image dances behind my eyelids, a blessing and a curse that stars in my wildest dreams and most vivid nightmares.

He taunts me.

He calms me.

He scares me.

I love him.

There are days I wish he would go. " _I don't want you anymore!_ " I scream into my pillow. I clench my eyes shut and cradle my head and beg, plead that he just disappear.

I don't want his words in my head. I don't want to simply bury him. I don't want to just forget. I want to burn his memory from its nest in my core.

 _I want him to burn._

And I'm going through these memories again. It's torture, self inflicted pain. It's suicide - _I ache_ \- but I'm still breathing.

So is he…

Somewhere. _I can feel him._

Where are you?

I don't want to know!

(Please, tell me _.)_

 _I miss you._


	7. Where I Stood

**Disclaimer:** All canon characters, plots and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I make no profit from this story.

 **Pairing:** Romione

 **A/N:** This Drabble will have a continuation OS posted shortly! Look for it soon under the Birthdaypalooza story 3

As always, your thoughts and reviews are greatly appreciated!

* * *

 **Where I Stood**

" _... I don't know who I am, who I am without you ;_

 _All I know is that I should …"_

* * *

"I have to do this… _please._ " she whispered, afraid that if she spoke any louder the room would shake, fall apart like an earthquake through the still air. "Can't you see? This is killing me, Ron."

Hermione watched as a parade of motions marched across his features, though his silence was deafening. She wanted to yell, needed him to scream, break something, _hit_ something. The suspense was enough to shatter her already broken heart, so she stood, ready to make her way to the bedroom where her packed belongings sat just outside the door.

His eyes followed her line of vision, landing on the innocent reminder that _Yes, I'm serious,_ and _I can't do this any longer._

When Hermione Granger learned that she was a witch at the mere age of eleven, she was ecstatic. Shocked, to say the least, but thrilled that for the first time in her life, the unexplainable seemed… _normal._ There was a world waiting for her, ready to make her theirs, and she had had no idea that it existed. Her life was about to begin, and she was ready to accept her fate with open arms.

She hadn't expected the prejudice that she would face and continue to fight down throughout her growth as a witch. The community that she thought needed her, in fact, despised her very being. She was _different_ , she was _wrong_ , and she was _less._

The beginning of her experience at Hogwarts was much more anticlimactic than her heart had been set on, and more so filled with the dread that she had _no_ friends, _no_ allies, and was relatively clueless, despite the abundance of books she'd managed to get her hands on. That was, until her destiny was sealed thanks to one nasty troll.

That was what began the glorious friendship she would cherish for a lifetime with one Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. When she thought about her younger years, growing up in the wizarding world, they were the only two constants in her life. As the years passed and their friendship was tested, they grew stronger together, bonded further. They were inseparable _-_ The Golden Trio.

And that's where the problem formed.

She had no idea who she was as an individual. She hadn't a clue what Hermione Granger stood for, because it was never _me_ , always _us._

"I need time, Ron."

"Then take a bloody holiday," he roared, the air around them sparking to life as his voice boomed across the expanse of the small living room.

 _That's it, Ron. Let go._

"I need far more than that and you know it," she sighed, rubbing a hand across her tired eyes. They'd gone over this three times in the last hour before he'd given her the silent treatment. She wasn't sure how much longer she could last.

"Look, I'm so sorry. _So. Sorry.'_ And she was, the tears pooling behind her eyelids very real.

She moved swiftly, waving her wand to shrink her bags and scooped all four up, holding the now small bundle in her arms before making her way towards the door leading from their apartment.

" _Hermione_ ," his voice pleaded over her shoulder, but she took the handle in her grasp, turning the knob and pulled the door open while pretending not to hear the quiver in his voice.

As she walked away from the building she'd called home for two years, Ron's voice rang on a loop in her head.

 _Then take a bloody holiday._

Hermione stopped, right in the center of the road as her eyes glazed over with the tears she'd refused to let fall.

 _Holidayholidayholidayholiday._

Decision made on a whim, she spun into darkness.


	8. Dark Blue

**A/N:** Prompted by song of the same title.

 **Pairing:** Harry P/Hermione G

* * *

 **Dark Blue**

" _... I'm here with you; the world could_

 _be burning, burning down …"_

* * *

Harry gripped his glass, knuckles white and slightly shaking as he scanned the growing crowd. Everyone was gathered at the Ministry for a _Celebration of Beginnings_ , as they'd so nicely worded it.

Well, _not everyone,_ he thought morbidly, faces of his friends long gone floating through his mind.

The war was over, three months out, and though progress had been made, reparations weren't nearly finished. They - being the _holy grail_ of the Minister's minions who did way less work than they took credit for - insisted that this ceremony was "simply a must".

That's what found him tucked away at the far side of the makeshift bar, surrounded by far too many people who treated him with a celebrity status he never asked for, _nor_ wanted. If he thought growing into his title of "The Boy Who Lived" during his Hogwarts days was bad, well, this was positively _catastrophic_.

After the fourth random face in the crowd offered him a drink and asked for a retelling of the final battle, their faces began to blur together. Whether it was alcohol or his ability to block out the finer details of these tedious encounters, he wasn't sure.

"How are you holding up, Harry?" A soft voice came from directly behind his head, and he grabbed his tumbler, filling his glass once more before turning towards it. Harry's features, already twisted in a slight grimace, instantly relaxed at the sight of the woman before him.

Hermione Granger stood tall in heels far too high for her normal taste, but he knew she was part of the circus, _dressed to impress_ , just as he was. Her ruby gown clung to her body, the fabric snug on her curves. Her shoulders were bared, tan and stark against the vibrant red satin.

He studied her for a moment longer, taking comfort from the familiar sight of his long time friend, yet seeing her differently. This wasn't the Hermione slightly awkward and unsure from their school days, nor the frail, yet strong witch on the run. This woman - vision - she was… _beautiful_ , he finished the thought.

"Have you ever been alone in a crowded room?" He smiled, albeit sadly, at the idea that surrounded by a sea of people, people you couldn't possibly miss, one could feel so isolated and alone.

Hermione closed the few steps between them, heels clicking against the tiled floors and pulled him flush against her, her words ghosting his ear as she exhaled deeply. "I'm here with you."


End file.
